The Splendour of Socks
 



I do not give a nibbled fig,
     A bucking-bullock’s toss,
An elf owl’s hoot, a pixie’s jig,
     A dippy hippo’s dross,
A Casanova’s roving eye,
     A portly warthog’s waddle,
A braying ass’s rasping cry 
     For blowhards blasting twaddle.
 
I do not give a rubber duck,
     A box of poxy frogs, 
A plucky chicken’s lick of luck,
     A podgy jogger’s clogs,
A loafing gopher’s oafish fit,
     A boozer’s crimson snitch,
A feckless speck, a witless whit
     For twits that itch to bitch. 
 
I do not give a donkey’s conk,
     An armadillo’s armour,
A dandy gander’s randy honk, 
     A barmy llama’s karma, 
A flirty turtle’s fancy shell, 
     A chipper puppy’s yap, 
A howler monkey’s yell from hell  
     For cretins spouting crap. 
 
I yearn to hear a word of cheer,
     A joke that stokes a grin,
A ditty from a balladeer 
     To ring beyond the din
Of cakeholes keen to caterwaul 
     And shock around the clock.  
I’m set to lob all gobs that bawl
     A bunkum-blocking sock.

Susan Jarvis Bryant


If you have any thoughts about this poem, Susan Jarvis Bryant would be pleased to hear them